[url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/246624086/0/0]Table of Contents[/url] Derik Magnate’s hands were shaking. He didn’t know if it was from the cold, the adrenaline, the fear, or a mixture of the three. He held tightly onto his rifle and scanned his companions. It was easy to see that they were as on edge as him, shifting tensely and looking around for danger. Irene was practically spinning, Geralt had his teeth bared, another man -Hervor might have been his name- was swinging the barrel of his gun from side to side, and Willis seemed to be whispering to himself. They’d gone all the way through the town of Coal, from north to south, and now stood just outside the line of houses. He hadn’t seen any of Lady Natalia’s gunmen -other than the man Saul had shot when they first entered- but the sound of weapons firing hadn’t stopped. He hoped the battle would be over soon. He’d already seen too much, and he hadn’t even fired a single shot. The walls of the buildings weren’t strong enough to stop bullets, and many people had been flushed out of their homes. Making the effort not to freak out and shoot any of them had been very difficult. Some had even tried defending their homes from Lady Avery’s invading army. Derik had witnessed a woman with a revolver being shot, and a man with a kitchen knife. There had been a lot of dead bodies. A lot of blood. It had been the first battle for Avery and Daedalus’ army, and things had gotten out of hand. All the gunfire probably wasn’t even directed at any enemies; just the madness of battle-scared gunmen. Derik didn’t even know if any of Natalia’s gunmen were still alive. Derik shivered, recalling the Fallen attack on his hometown, Wehwalt. This slaughter was far too similar. “There’s some more,” Willis announced, pointing along the edge of the town. Two other small groups of gunmen, like theirs, were standing not too far away. “Y’all stay here,” Brenon ordered, striding out to the nearest huddle. The rest of them were left to look back into Coal. “There’s a lot o’ shootin’ goin’ on in there,” Irene commented. “Just idiots sprayin’ at anythin’ that moves,” one of the others scoffed. “We’re not goin’ back in, are we?” Derik asked. “Of course we are,” Geralt retorted. “Gotta make sure we got ‘em all,” Ibis affirmed. “We should wait for Brenon, right?” Hervor questioned. Brenon had brought them through before. It was comforting, having the leadership of one of Lady Avery’s best warriors. A few people trickled out of town. Some were more of their comrades, while others were terrified townsfolk who shrunk back into the shadows of the nearest shelters at the sight of them. Derik and his companions waited quietly. With all that was happening around them, none were in the mood to talk. “Hey!” Brenon called, getting their attention. He and one of Avery’s other gunmen -named Jennifer, if Derik remembered correctly- were approaching them. “It’s about over,” Brenon said when they were close, “You’re all gonna go through one more time an’ give the streets a good sweep, alright?” A few of them grunted acknowledgement. “You ain’t comin’?” A woman asked. Brenon shook his head and jabbed a thumb towards the center of town, where most of the gunshots were coming from, “I’ve gotta take care o’ that.” He patted the guard’s shoulder, “Jenny here’ll take care o’ you. Keep your heads on.” With that, the scout turned and jogged away. Jennifer waved a hand in the air and addressed the gathering, “Alright! One more time through!” • • • Derik coughed, rubbing at his eye with the back of his hand. The bus (that was what they had taken to calling the tractor-pulled husk of a bus they used as transportation) was quieter than normal. The aftereffect of the attack. They were all shaken. Derik shifted the rifles in his lap and stretched his legs, trying to distract himself from the memories. One of the firearms was his and the other was Saul’s, who was seated next to Derik. Saul hadn’t said anything for a long while. It seemed that he had been affected more than most of the others, and Derik understood why. Seeing the man he had shot lying in the dirt and suffering must have left a mark. “Are you Saul Chanely?” A gruff voice asked. Everyone around them moved their attention -from their laps, windows, and the backs of the seats in front of them- to see Lord Daedalus standing in the aisle between the seats, looking down at Derik. This was the first time Derik could recall getting a good look at the Warlord’s face. Daedalus was notably old, but his weathered face -which was permanently fixed in a stern expression- had far more wrinkles than it should have, and his hair was almost completely gray. Derik guessed that his appearance was the result of stress. Then Derik realized that the Warlord had spoken to him and blinked in confusion, “Um-“ “I’m Saul,” Saul corrected meekly, rescuing Derik from his fluster. Daedalus nodded slowly, studying them, “Springcliff…um, Brenon…said you were a crack shot.” Now it was Saul’s turn to be stupefied, “I’m-uh-I-thank you. Sir.” “The hell you thankin’ me for?” Daedalus chided, “Springcliff told me you killed Louse.” “Um,” Saul furrowed his brow, “Who?” “Fargo Louse,” Daedalus specified. “Was he important?” Saul asked, not recognizing the name. Daedalus sighed, then looked to Derik, “We’ve met before, haven’t we? Avery brought you to my home in Empyrea?” Derik bobbed his head nervously. Now he was the center of attention. “You were…” Daedalus took a moment to think, “Useless Meatsack?” Derik blinked, dumbstruck. After a moment, he recalled that Lady Avery had called him a useless meat sack when she took him to meet Daedalus. The people around them laughed and Derik’s face turned red, “You remember that?” Daedalus grunted affirmation, “You tend to remember a day like that. That’s not actually your name, is it?” “My name’s Derik Magnate,” Derik mumbled. “Why would someone be named Meat Sack?” Irene questioned, leaning over the back of the seat in front of them. “I once knew a man named…” Daedalus began, but he trailed off and his frown deepened, “I’d rather not say it aloud, actually.” “What was his name?” Saul inquired. “Forget it,” Daedalus insisted. “It must’ve been dirty,” a man said. “It was,” Daedalus confirmed, carefully turning between the seats, “Nice talkin’ to ya, I suppose.” The farewell was halfhearted at best, clearly just a courtesy, but everyone replied in kind and no one pressed for the man’s name. They didn’t want to get on a Warlord’s bad side. They silently watched as Daedalus shuffled down the aisle to the front of the bus. It wasn’t until he sat down that the people around Derik and Saul started talking. “Who’d you shoot?” A woman called from a couple rows back. “Way to go, Saul!” “You know the Warlord?” “Where’re you fellas from?” “Hey, Meat Sack!” Derik ignored them and looked to Saul, who was staring back down at his lap. “Somethin’ wrong?” Derik asked. Saul let out a long breath and muttered, “Nothin’, just been a rough day.”